Authoress note: I know, I took my time this time. Sorry about that! School is just getting too much for me, but to lift my spirits up, only 4 months more until graduation and then sweet freedom! Anyway: of course things are not that easy, though it might help them, at least a bit. Can one ever have enough dead main characters in a fan fiction? And may I remind you that we only have one, at least in this story. So thanks for most of the reviewers. I guess I will be spared of commenting on "hi im cold"s review, because I do not like insulting people. My guess is, that what I write tends to be more for "older" people, too little sunshine in it. What I have been wondering is: Where has one of my dearest reviewers gone?
I will never know how long it actually took me to snap out of my reverie and return to the real world. To convince myself that I had not dreamt it all up.
"Harold" I finally managed to press out between my lips. I bent over him and helped him get up. I wondered at how natural it felt at that moment. "Are you okay?"
Possibly the most stupid question anyone could have asked, an awkward question and terribly out of place.
He seems dazed still, touches his robes and looks at his hands, as if he has comprehension problems. Then his gaze settles on me, the only part that has not changed back, that has remained with me all the time, his brown eyes.
"I know there is an argument to come and that both of us will have much to say and end up hurting each other again, but there is one thing I need to do, before this happens." And I wonder if this is the most mature sentence he has ever said.
Before I get a chance to reply, I feel his arms around me, the comfort and warmth that they provide. And I feel his lips pressed onto mine, with the pain and desperation only the lack of human contact for over a year, can drive a man to.
And for a moment, as I part my lips and feel his body against mine, I remember all of it, everything. I remember that I love him and why I love him and why I chose him and what he means to me. And how I missed his kiss.
In a second it will all be over, and we know it so both of us try to pour all our souls into this single kiss, it will have to undo so much wrong, to cover up so much suffering.
The kiss of my one and only true love, that awakes me from my deep and haunted sleep.
And at the same time, the hearty bite into the shining red apple, that will poison me to death a few minutes later.
When he finally pulls back his lips, I dread what has to come now. More of the harsh questioning, no doubt.
"I take it, you did not know I would return to my human form, if you threw me against the wall?" a question that is not a question. A question that is in reality an accusation. The accusation that I meant to hurt him, possibly even kill, harm him in any way.
"No, I did not." Why deny the obvious? "But, Harold" the desperate part of me wants him to understand, needs him to comprehend my actions, "I did not intend on killing you." How awful that sounds, how unwifely. "I was in a rage, I did not think." Sounds pathetic!
"Are our roles reversed now?" I silently have to agree with him "The cool-headed, logical, rational queen acts out of an impulse, while her easily-agitated, temperous husband has to ask her the necessary questions."
He has changed so much. How can a year transform a person like that. And still it is him.
"Then ask them, your questions." Now or never. I want to get it over with. Of course he does not reply now.
"I think that there are no questions left for us to ask. Why? is not a question with an answer. I can and will not pretend that all will be fine now. But what we have to say and, much more important, mean, are only three small words." I did not intend on dropping into teacher mode.
He nods, he seems to understand. Psychological force is necessary for him to say it, but he does "I am sorry."
And amazingly enough I find myself smiling slightly, a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I am sorry as well."
But still it hurts. For all the higher and greater significance that apologizing tends to have, it were other three words that I had meant. He should have said "I love you."
A deafening silence falls over us, but it is not as bad as I had feared. Though the bridge might be burnt, the distance between our two worls is not too far to risk the try of a jump.
"Another family member still needs to see her grandfather in human form." I tell him and he follows me down the corridors to Roses room.
Somehow the small girl must know of the importances of the latest happenings and awakens, even as we enter very silently. She yawns adoringly and for whatever reason she giggles a bit and trains her eyes on her grandfather.
How come I feel not the least bit silly as I say "Rose, this is your grandpa, you know him as the green froggy." I lift her up and she drools onto my dress. I do not mind.
"Do you want to hold her?" I ask Harold and I feel as if taken back 20 years in time.
He nods and I lay her into his arms. He holds her somewhat awkwardly, not having had to do with babies for 18 years. Rose giggles at him and pulls at his beard with her small green fingers. Again I smile, and strange as it feels, I believe I could get used to it again.
For an instance we are a family, a strange and hurt one, one with a past that has marked us, but still a family. And I wish Shrek were here, as it is his family just as much as ours.
Authoress: Okay, short I know, but this seems so much like the end of a chapter, that I simply have to post it now. I guess it will just be one more chapter now. But I have one wish before the end of this fic comes: I dream of breaking the 50 reviews mark – care to help me?
